What Are We Doing?
by Cora-DragonSoul
Summary: "They didn't really have anyone else. Noone else that they lost composure in front of. Noone else who knew their emotional turmoil. They fought with each other, but in the end, could only seek comfort in each other." An exploration of damaged people, painful love, and a relationship that is both toxic and healing at the same time. (Nalu)


He pulled at his hair, letting out a yell of frustration. He couldn't even remember how they had gotten to this point. He tried to remember to breath; to not react by driving his fist through the wall of the apartment like last time.

Now he'd missed what she'd said. Her barrage of angry words being thrown at him through tears; her confused emotions as evident as his own. He shouted back, defensive. It wasn't his fault this time, he argued. But honestly, he didn't really know anymore.

They had only lasted a week this time. The time between their fights getting shorter and shorter. It was like they were losing this battle and he didn't know how to fight back. Everything he did seemed to fail.

Feelings and relationships were a minefield to him. He hadn't learnt how to communicate with anything other than his fists. The key emotion that had fueled him through life was rage. He'd never connected with anyone before her, but they couldn't seem to help but clash. What were they doing wrong?

"I don't understand, Lucy! Do you not trust me anymore?"

She gaped at him for a moment, her attack temporarily interrupted, before being resumed, even louder than before.

"Trust you? You lost my trust when you disappeared, leaving me with only a note! I'm terrified constantly that you'll repeat that!"

He flinched. He couldn't help it. They were back to this. And it hurt them both every time.

He had grown up with a fear of abandonment. He didn't know his real parents, and his adoptive father had just disappeared when he was seven. He'd been terrified of anyone else leaving him. And then he'd done it to her. Gods, he was a hypocrite.

Tears pricked his eyes. How do you express sadness again? He didn't really know. Comfort was mostly foreign, and the only person who knew what to do, he had hurt.

She wasn't doing much better than him. She was an orphan herself, subjected to emotional abuse as a child. She responded to the pain he caused her by causing pain back. Neither of them knew another way.

He snarled as she stabbed him again and again with her words. She knew how to use them well; she did it without thinking. All he could do back was get louder. He realised belatedly that he'd lost control of his flames. They were licking up his arms, a visualisation of his emotions. Again, he tried to remember to breathe, his inner demon still a struggle to contain.

He heard her voice catch, finally breaking. His head shot up. He could deal with angry. He understood it. This… this was something else. He couldn't let her stay this distraught. He was sure the fight had started because of something he had done. That's how it always started. He was useless. She'd had enough. With a final hurl of insults to shoot him down, she spun on her heel, marching into the bedroom. She'd gone to cry. To shed tears and wail like it would clear away the pain. It wouldn't; he knew.

After a moment, he followed her. He couldn't help it. They had acted out this play too many times now; he knew how it went. He had an idea of how it should go, but that was never what happened.

He watched her from the doorway for a minute, his face an open book, showing how lost he was in these situations. Her breathing calmed soon enough.

"Natsu…" She turned her face towards him, arms outstretched, reaching. "Come here… please…"

They didn't really have anyone else. Noone else that they lost composure in front of. Noone else who knew their emotional turmoil. They fought with each other, but in the end, could only seek comfort in each other. It was a bitter cycle, but they couldn't break out. Or, at least, that's what they told themselves.

He didn't hesitate. In a moment, he was joining her on the bed, rough hands cupping her soft cheeks, trying to give her comfort. His brow furrowed. What is he supposed to do now? She answered the question for him; moving forward to harshly push her lips against his. His response is automatic; angling his head and opening his mouth, urging her to do the same.

Her hands are aggressive, his mouth is desperate. They cling to each other, losing themselves in this false security. Clothes are hastily removed as they devour one another.

The shouldn't be doing this. He's vaguely aware of that fact. It happens every time but they can't seem to stop themselves. It's like they gravitate towards each other. It's not healthy; they're destroying themselves. But, Gods, they don't want to let go. Not yet.

They don't speak. Heavy breathing, grunts, moans, and screams are enough to express what is needed. They seek solace in the carnal frenzy and the ability to forget. Pleasure and pain merge into one.

They're both broken; neither of them really realise how broken. They both know they've destroyed what they had. They can never go back. They don't have the emotional stability to help each other; all they do is get stuck in this downwards spiral. They can only hope that they'll break out of it before they're both lost completely.

But right now… Right now, all they want to do is hold onto what they have left. This instinctual coupling, left over from when things were right. So they ignore their judgement. They ignore the brutality now present in what was once considered lovemaking. They ignore the echoes of their verbal abuse, still echoing in their minds. The ignore it all and drown it out in combined cries of release.

Just this once, they tell themselves.

But in the back of their minds, the think the same question;

What are we doing?


End file.
